A Hymn of Shadows
by Ignis Surgit
Summary: Laurel Mellark, daughter to Katniss and Peeta, has grown up in a quiet life inside District 12. When her world is turned upside-down, she'll have to turn to the unlikeliest of sources to find meaning and love - and discover the girl on fire within her along the way.
1. A Fiery End

_**Twenty-four years have passed since Katniss Everdeen and the rebels ended Panem's bloody and terrifying revolution. Peace and democracy have been brought to the united country – but all is not well in this new world. A cancer spreads across the wastelands rendered by war, its corruption spreading from the Capitol all the way to lonely District 12. There, Laurel Mellark, daughter of Peeta and Katniss, has known not the Hunger Games nor the crippling affliction of poverty…but even she will not be free from the storm brewing within Panem's heart.**_

_**And another darkness, one long since forgotten and deemed vanquished, simmers beneath the surface of peace…**_

* * *

_Excerpt from the Book of Memories_

* * *

_The price paid in the first rebellion should have bought peace._

_Districts 2, 5, and 13 – devastated and destroyed by nuclear fire, left like dead relics in the years after the war. Tens, hundreds of thousands dead – more wounded, scarred, or traumatized. Whole regions of Panem left burned and torched in the final days of the war, as District 13 and the desperate Capitol engaged in a nuclear exchange to destroy each other's forces. This was the price we paid – the price we, the people of Panem, had to suffer through in the years following that horror._

_Still it wasn't enough._

_How quickly we forgot what we fought for – sacrificing freedom for the trappings of safety and security all too easily abused by power-hungry leaders we put in charge. How quickly it was that dissent brewed once again in the bellies of Panem's people – yet with no District 13 to ride to the rescue again, who would stand up to the Capitol's resurging tyranny? Who would beat back the horrible things we had created?_

_Why would it take the unlikeliest of heroes to once again save Panem…from itself?_

* * *

**District 12 – 24 Years After the Rebellion**

* * *

The fight her parents had known and grown up with was an alien to Laurel Mellark. Unfortunately, it would find her before she could understand it.

She was born the youngest child of Panem's two favorite children – twice victors of the Hunger Games and heroes of the recent rebellion that brought democracy to Panem. They named her Laurel – flowering herald of the warm spring, daughter to Katniss and niece to Primrose.

Laurel grew up in a District 12 that soon came to recognize what the rebellion had wrought. No idyllic democracy had come to Panem – instead, little had changed far away in the materialistic, power-hungry Capitol. Men and women still starved on the streets of the district; children still knew the pain of hunger. While Katniss and Peeta, Laurel's father, may have reaped the benefits of fame and fortune, their contemporaries far on the outskirts of Panem did not.

The cool spring air of April, 24 years after the war died down, brought reflection for 16 year-old Laurel as she knelt on the banks of the woodland pond her mother had once hunted beside. Her reflection shimmered in the refreshing water, morphing and changing in ripples sent up by a frog leaping between lilies.

"Laur?"

Laurel perked her head up, her blue eyes scanning the woods around her. A tall boy with short-cropped blonde hair and grey eyes pushed past a pine tree – Ash, her brother of 19. His tall stature and bony, long face came from their mother – quite the opposite of Laurel, whose relative shortness, vivid blue eyes, and round face all came from Peeta.

"Hey," Laurel pulled her ponytail over her shoulder, turning her eyes back towards the pond. "I'm just…sitting."

"Mom told me to come find you," Ash replied, kneeling next to her in the mud of the pond. "Train to District 4's leaving in an hour and a half. Aunt Prim and Lily are already at our place."

"I don't really feel like going to District 4," Laurel opined, running her hand through the cool water of the pond. "I don't care about all those people we haven't seen in years."

"The Odairs? Or Plutarch?" Ash laughed half-heartedly, looking off into the woods. "Can't say I particularly care for Plutarch either. Why we're supposed to be meeting him there, I dunno…guy's Capitol swine. All that fakeness just reeks off him."

"I don't even remember Finnick and Annie," Laurel interjected, her eyes downcast. "Mom and Dad keep talking about them, but I don't want to be paraded around in front of a bunch of Capitol cameras."

"Don't remember them?" Ash put a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort the volatile emotions of his little sister. "They have a son your age – Drake. Don't remember him? When we last saw them six years ago, I remember you and he getting along just fine. Lily certainly liked him."

"I was ten. Lily was six."

"Hey, just trying to help."

Laurel gave a feeble chuckle, staring into the water. She cared about her cousin Lily – Prim's only daughter of unfortunate circumstances. Lily hadn't been intentionally conceived, but Laurel had looked after the demure, 12 year-old blonde girl like a little sister of her own. As for the Odairs…and Drake…she hardly remembered them. Six years in District 12 was virtually an eternity, with little but the district's medical factory and small farms to distract one from the slowness of everyday life.

She knew Plutarch, however. The Capitol's spokesperson – right-hand-man to the shadowy President himself – paid too many visits to the Mellark household. Laurel would never feel comfortable around his snake-like voice; his empty promises. He was a man to avoid.

"Why can't we just stay here?" Laurel piped up after a minute of silence. "I don't wanna go somewhere else."

"You know how it is," Ash replied, a touch of exasperation entering his voice. "Rich people in the Capitol want to see everything Mom and Dad do. We're just stuck in the middle. Can't help that."

"It's always going to be like this," Laurel said, leaning against Ash's shoulder. "We're always just going to be their kids. We can't even be ourselves; we have to be whatever they want us to be."

"I don't think so," Ash answered truthfully. "Hey, if we want – "

A rustling in the brush across from the pond cut him off. Laurel took her head off his shoulder, squinting her eyes to get a better look at the trees. Something was coming – coming through the woods, creeping up on the pond. She didn't have to wait long to find out.

The tumor-laced head of a bony, scraggly brown horse poked through the underbrush, its teeth – hewn into points by overuse – bared and braying in the evening air. Even in the darkness, Laurel could make out its rider. A short, stocky man covered only by a loincloth sat atop the animal, his skin blackened by the radiation produced from the old rebellion's final days, when dozens of nuclear weapons flew between the Capitol and District 13 – wiping out Districts 2, 5, and 13 in the process. His eyes bore the scars of that exchange, irises yellowed by age and whites reddened by fire. His black skin was covered in cancerous sores and burn marks.

He was a Fury: A man without a homeland, a citizen of the old Panem left nomads by the rebellion Laurel's parents had sparked. They had once been residents of the districts later destroyed in the nuclear fire of the revolution, cast out into the world without friends or countrymen after Panem declared peace. Now, without love, allies, or even recognition, the Furies roamed the nuclear-torn wastes of Panem between districts as roving bandits, occasionally destroying trains and attacking the outskirts of villages with unbridled rage.

Few were ever left alive to see them…and one had stumbled right into defenseless Ash and Laurel.

"_Chelovek!_" the Fury shouted in the language adopted by his abandoned people, raising a crude blade above his head. "_Ubit! Ubit!"_

Laurel froze, her mouth agape. One moment she'd been opening up to her brother – the next, a horrifying demon of the wastelands had taken off across the pond, circling on the legs of a terrifying beast as fast he could come.

"Laurel! Run!" Ash grabbed her hand before she could move a muscle, dragging her through the woods as the horseman closed.

Laurel's legs obeyed instinctively, carrying her along at a breakneck pace. Trees whipped past her face as she ran through the woods she knew all too well, haunted by the war cries of the Fury somewhere behind her. She had to make it home – just make it home, and maybe somehow the thing would leave her. Furies wouldn't dare attack a whole district, would they – even District 12 had a small compliment of armed Peacekeepers.

She and Ash broke through the final line of trees before the edge of District 12's meadow, where the old electric fence now stood unpowered and welcoming their retreat. What confronted them wasn't safety and security, however.

Homes on the edge of the old Seam burned with red and yellow flames as screams echoed in the air. In the distance, Laurel could spot several other horsemen racing upon their diseased mounts, ransacking District 12 for whatever they could find.

"C'mon!" Ash shouted at her before she could absorb the scene. "We gotta find Mom and Dad. We have to get out of here."

"Where are we going to go?!" Laurel panicked, nearly hysterical by the sight as her hands fluttered. "They're…they're…"

"We don't have a _choice_!" Ash shook her shoulder violently. "Just follow me – _now!_"

Laurel took off without further questioning her brother. The Fury behind them was nowhere in sight, but acrid smoke filled her lungs as she raced across the meadow the two of them had played in as kids – now reduced to a field of sorrow as they scrambled to avoid the crisis befalling District 12. The stars Laurel idolized were shrouded by the flames, reduced to pinpricks of light in the fiery halo of burning buildings.

"_Laurel! Ash!_"

A male tenor cut through the commotion and smoke as Laurel pounded her way across the meadow. Sprinting through a column of smoke and carrying a long knife came a tall, blonde-haired man in his earl forties – Peeta Mellark, her father and still-spry victor of the Hunger Games. The reflection of the fires danced in his gray eyes as he spotted his children, rushing towards them without a second thought.

Laurel wasted no time, rushing into his arms before she could even think. Peeta held her tight for a moment before pushing her along.

"Train's waiting," he panted, his voice straining with exertion. "We're going to get out of here if they haven't destroyed it yet. The Peacekeepers are all stationed there."

"What's going on?!" Ash demanded, his eyes alight as Laurel looked on. "How are they just running through the place? They've never done this before!"

"Can't underestimate Furies," Peeta grimaced. "Don't know. Maybe they've organized somehow. We don't have time to think about it, however – we've got to go. Stick with your sister; stay behind me and – "

He was cut off by the arrival of another horseman – a short, bloated fellow riding atop a cancerous steed. The Fury bellowed out a roar, holding out a war hammer aloft and preparing to charge –

_Twang!_

An arrow impaled the Fury straight through the eye, sending him flying off his mount. A second arrow shot the diseased horse in the head, sticking through its cranium and downing the frenzied beast. Shrouded by a backdrop of fire, Katniss Everdeen held her bow aloft with a third arrow notched and ready to fire.

"Peeta!" she shouted over the din. "Do you have them?"

"Yeah!" he returned. "We gotta go."

Laurel grabbed Katniss's outstretched hand, her legs sprinting as fast as they could go as her mother's tell-tale braid danced and bobbed before her eyes. Lines of age showed on Katniss's forehead, but even in her early forties, she was still in her element – willing to fight to the end, no matter the enemy. If her opponent threatened the people she loved, all the more incentive to battle.

"I sent Lily and Prim to the train," Katniss shouted back to Peeta as she led Laurel forward. "Sent Madge, Rory, and Summer, too. Couldn't find Delly and her family."

"Can't worry about her," Peeta yelled as he and Ash held up the rear. "Not enough time."

Laurel nearly fell down as Katniss pushed her back, sending another arrow through the throat of an enraged Fury. The radiation-plagued man fell screaming, gurgling as blood poured from the wound. Laurel felt a haze overcome her as violence poured in from every angle: Seemingly everywhere she looked, fires blazed or people ran screaming, shouting for help. Just an hour ago, District 12 had been its usual calm self. Now, the entire world she'd grown to know over 16 years had fallen apart by the seams, torn asunder by anger and flames.

"Station's up ahead!" Katniss shouted back, snapping Laurel from her stupor. "C'mon!"

Laurel just got a glimpse of several white Peacekeeper uniforms when something else – something _also_ white – entered her vision. This was no Peacekeeper; no enforcer of the status quo. This was pure evil – riding a beast hewn from Hell itself.

A pale monster of a man, his waist clothed in a loincloth made of human skin, strode before Laurel and her family with a cruel, flanged mace in his right hand. He was easily seven feet tall, perhaps taller – his face bearing radiation scars battle wounds, with eyes yellowed by the heat of long-forgotten nuclear fire. The fingernails on his hands had fallen out years ago, leaving well-muscled pink pits behind. His face bore pocks and pits of radiation poisoning, with even his teeth yellowed and pointed into angular daggers from age and wear. Two pistols – along with the cut-off faces of defeated foes – banded a belt that kept his loincloth in place.

His mount was even more terrifying. No mere horse was this, like the rest of the Furies attacking District 12. No, this was a hound mutated into impressive size; a wolf-retriever hybrid of at least eight feet in length, morphed by the fallout of the rebellion's final days. Its black coat bore splotched patches of bare red skin; its knife-like teeth hung out of its mouth like those of saber-toothed tigers of Neolithic yore. It snarled at Laurel as it slunk before them, carrying its fearsome rider with pride.

No stranger did this man seem to Laurel and her brood, however. The man pointed his mace at Katniss, his teeth clenching in an awful snarl as he let out a howling war cry:

"_OSKVERNITEL!_"

Laurel's mother let out a single arrow, catching the man in his shoulder as he charged. The shot barely slowed him down: The man shrugged off the blow, lowering his mace and catching Katniss squarely in the chest. Laurel dove to the side as the wolf barreled past as her mother fell, blood spurting from a deep incision.

Peacekeeper gunfire jolted the attacker from his assault as he rebounded to confront the threat. His wolf took apart the nearest Peacekeeper, decapitating him in one swift motion that left his helmeted head rolling on the bloodied grass.

"Katniss!" Peeta shouted, letting go of Ash and grabbing his wife's quivering body. "Ash, get your sister and go! Tell the conductor to get the train started!"

"Mom!" Laurel shouted as Ash grabbed her hand, fighting to get back to her injured mother. "No!"

"Laurel, we gotta go!" Ash snarled at her. "She'll be alright! C'mon, or we're all gonna die here!"

Ash half-dragged Laurel to the train station that had once hauled Katniss and Peeta off to the Hunger Games, pushing her forward to a shining silver train that stood ready for use. On the platform stood a petite blonde woman and her thin, young carbon-copy – Prim and Lily, waiting for word from the Mellarks.

"Go!" Ash shouted at them as he pushed Laurel forward. "Tell them to go! Mom and Dad are coming."

Laurel felt her heart racing as her brother pushed her on. She clawed at him, trying to get back to where they'd left their parents behind – at the mercy of whatever the pale giant was doing. He'd taken out a Peacekeeper with ease and smashed Katniss's chest with a single stroke; who could tell what else he'd do? She couldn't just _leave_ them!

"Ash!" Laurel screamed. "We have to go back! We have to!"

"No, Laur!" He shoved her into the train's entrance car, blocking her from running with his body. "Get on! You heard Dad!"

With tears pouring out of her eyes, Laurel backpedaled onto the train – ignoring the opulent surroundings of the cabin as she scrambled for a window. Smoke and fire clouded District 12; with a scene like this, what was left of her parents?

Out of the gray shroud came her father – holding Katniss's still body in his arms and running with every ounce of strength in his body.

They weren't alone.

The pale giant came galloping out of the smoke after them, his wolf steed sprinting as fast as it could go. He snarled with malicious intent, his mace shining in the fiery night with the blood of innocents already spilled upon it. He had his eyes set on the two victors from District 12 – with nothing less than their deaths acceptable in his eyes.

Laurel couldn't stand by and do nothing.

She pushed past Ash to the door, keeping her feet on the final step of the entrance car as the train began to pull out from the station.

"Dad!" Laurel screamed. "C'mon!"

As the pale man almost overtook Peeta, a final Peacekeeper stepped in his way – blocking the assailant's path with his rifle. The pale giant barely slowed down, allowing himself a moment to crush the man's skull like a melon. A sickening crunch echoed through the train car as the Peacekeeper was reduced to a corpse, lain out by the pale giant as he surged after Peeta.

It was too late by now, however – the Peacekeeper had bought just enough time for Laurel's father to hoist her mother's body with one hand, grabbing Laurel's outstretched hand with the other. Peeta pulled his foot in the door as the train sped up – just in time to avoid a loud _clang!_ as the pale giant's mace connected with the train's metal sheeting.

"_NYET!_" the man screamed, outraged at his quarry escaping.

Laurel slammed the train's door behind her father, catching a glimpse of the pale giant's hideous, angered face before District 12 fell away forever. Her final glimpse onto her home would be its burning – rendered unto ashes by the Furies and their anger.

As Peeta carried Katniss's still body forward, Laurel fell down in the train car and cried.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ _**Welcome to an alternate future of Panem, where the rebellion's final days were marked by an intense fight between District 13 and the Capitol that saw nuclear weapons devastate the nation – wiping out District 2, District 5, and District 13. More than twenty years after the fighting has ceased, the enigmatic man known only as The President rules from the Capitol. Never seen by the eyes of the public, he rules through an increasingly strict set of laws that threaten to cast Panem's young democracy back into the Capitol's autocracy of yore.**_

_**Laurel Mellark is the younger child of Peeta and Katniss, rather than the older as in canon; Katniss had her son just five years after the war ended, rather than fifteen. For the sake of the story, some characters who died did not in this retelling; Finnick, Prim, and Madge are still alive. **_

_**All canon material belongs to Suzanne Collins; all original work is mine. Enjoy, and I always welcome feedback! Part 1 of 3.**_


	2. Blood on the Floor

"Peeta, lay her on the table – no, lay her there. Don't touch her chest!"

Prim pushed Peeta aside as he slumped Katniss's still body over a gleaming chrome table. Blood leaked out of a glaring chest wound, staining the previously-pristine train cabin floor with crimson drops.

"Mom!" Laurel felt panic rising in her gut as she stood by helplessly, watching Prim's deft fingers weaving her healer's touch over Katniss's skin.

"Peeta, get them out," Prim said. The petite woman typically wasn't one to issue commands, but in times of a medical emergency, there were few in Panem better equipped to handle things than her. "And get me Madge. I need someone else here to help me who's actually calm."

"Anything else I can do?" he replied as he grabbed Laurel by the arm, with Ash herding Lily towards the door to the next car.

"No. Just let me work. She's alive; I think it's a broken sternum."

"Oh God," Laurel whimpered as she found herself being forced from the car, trying to get a look back at her still mother's body. "I'm sorry!"

"You didn't do anything wrong," her father said as he yanked the door to the lounge car open, forcing Laurel inside. "Sit. C'mon. We're alright."

Ash had switched on the lounge car's television, catching Panem's news service from a hovercraft now flying above burning District 12. A Capitol man's accented voice cut over the pictures of flames and smoke, relaying the scene to the country:

"_Absolute devastation in District 12 in what the President is calling a 'rogue act of terror.' We have confirmed reports that military hovercraft are on the way to reinforce what's left of the district's security to wipe out the perpetrators, and the President has announced new security measures for each and every district in Panem. Says the President, 'No measure is enough. In light of this tragedy and in remembrance of the victims, I pledge to tighten all standards…'"_

"Jesus. Who prepares for something like that?" a thick, hearty voice came from Laurel's left. Rory Hawthorne – wife to Madge and father of Laurel's school friend, Summer, leaned against a wall with a glass of yellow liquid in his hand. A thick carpet of facial hair covered his chin and cheeks, showing just how fast he'd hurried his family away at the sound of the attack.

"You don't," Peeta mused.

Laurel crashed on a plush chair nearby, a million thoughts careening through her head. If she just _hadn't_ had to be out sitting by the pond, maybe this wouldn't have happened – maybe she and her family could have gotten to the train and away before anybody had been hurt. Her emotions weaved in and out of control, threatening to overwhelm her with a wave of tears.

A kind-faced, tall girl with brown hair and gray eyes slid next to Laurel, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder: "You okay, Laur?"

Rory and Madge had a long history with Laurel's family; perhaps by design, she'd easily forged a friendship with their only child, Summer. Katniss had once been best friends with Rory's older brother, Gale – a man who, according to her, had disappeared after the rebellion, never to be seen since. Madge, who had apparently once taken a liking to Gale, had settled on Rory.

Perhaps it was for the best. Summer was a good friend – one of Laurel's few in tight-knit District 12. She had a fight in her – the kind that kept her calm in this sort of a situation when Laurel was on the verge of falling apart.

"No," Laurel put her face in her hands. _Am I okay? What a stupid question!_ "No, I'm not okay. My mom is hurt and our district is on fire. I'm not okay _at all_."

"C'mon," Summer grabbed her hand, checking Peeta's gaze for the go-ahead. "Let's go find somewhere quiet, you and I. C'mon."

"Don't wanna," Laurel grumbled in response, too tired to put up a fight as Summer half-dragged her out of her seat.

Laurel followed her friend past the others, into the adjacent sleeper car – where, many years ago, tributes on their way to the Hunger Games had been left to ponder their fates. Now alongside Summer, Laurel was left to ponder hers with District 12 far behind them in ashes.

"Laur," Summer sat her down on the compartment's bed, taking a seat across from her on a chair. "Your mom's gonna be okay. Your aunt and my mom are looking after her…alright? We're fine. It's scary, but we're fine."

"We're not fine!" Laurel nearly screamed in response, her hands digging into her scalp. "Everybody we knew back home…they could be dead, or missing, or who knows what…"

"The TV said the Capitol was sending people, Laur. Calm down."

"I don't _care_ what the TV said! Did you even look at it?"

Summer pulled back her hand, giving her friend an odd look: "We're ok. They're not going to get us, Laurel…alright?"

Laurel turned her had away, looking out the compartment's window into the moonless night sky. Out here away from District 12, the stars she'd memorized the names to as a child shone brightly down onto the forested landscape. She tried to calm her frayed nerves, to tell herself that Summer was right – that they were fine; that danger was past. Yet she couldn't shake the look she'd seen in the pale giant's eyes as it had locked its gaze on her and Katniss.

It hadn't been bloodlust or the rage of battle – it had been _personal_. That kind of hatred wasn't erased with one near-miss.

"I just – " Laurel lied to evade Summer's questioning stare. "If I hadn't been out of town, maybe my mom wouldn't have been hurt…"

"Stop blaming yourself," Summer replied. She'd always been the fix-it type of friend, never able to really understand empathy and listening when someone else needed it most. "What happened would have happened anyway."

"I just wanna know my mom's okay," Laurel sighed. Sometimes Summer's good-natured questioning wasn't the right medicine to heal her hurt.

"Tell ya what," Summer patted her head like an attentive older sibling. "I'll go see how my mom and your Aunt Prim are doing. You just sit here for now…you need to relax a little, Laur. Everything's going to be fine. We'll get to District 4, and you'll see. Just sit for now."

Laurel locked the door as soon as Summer left, putting her back to the entranceway and staring out into the dark night. She couldn't understand it: Something _horrifying_ had just happened, and everyone else seemed to want to cheer her up? How could they even stand to be so…so…_normal_ after something like that? She understood Ash and her father, to an extent…they had always been strong, even under stress. But Summer, who had lived her whole life in District 12 just like she had…and even little Lily, who usually was just as vulnerable as Laurel. How was she handling this without breaking down and bursting into tears?

_Maybe everyone's stronger than I know_, Laurel thought as she stared out the window, hands clutching her knees to her chest. _Stronger than me_. _Here I am falling apart, and they're hanging on for me…I'm disgusting. After all, I'm not dead. My mom's probably going to be alright, and the rest of my family's okay._

Yet she still couldn't shake the eyes of the pale giant that haunted her mind – the hatred burning from his retinas straight into her brain. Laurel pressed a pillow into her face, laying her head onto her knees and wishing for it all to be one bad dream.

* * *

**Woods, District 12**

* * *

Two Capitol hovercraft disgorged Peacekeepers into the town square of District 12, but it was far too late to prevent most of the damage. The shops and storefronts of the quiet district now stood in ashes and rubble, reduced to cinders by the quick raid of the Furies. Shell-shocked citizens of District 12 peered out of closed windows from houses that still stood, afraid to venture out even with the reassuring white uniforms of the Peacekeepers spreading out in all directions.

As quickly as the Furies had come, they had fallen back – but not without taking their own bounties.

The water of the pond now stood still, undisturbed by man or beast in the dead of night. The pale giant kneeled in the soupy mud, his hand resting atop the filthy head of his wolf mount. The beast growled softly in the night air, sated by the blood it had spilled. Still the pale man was unhappy – he had sought one victim, just _one _out of all the people he'd mown down in the dark…and that one had escaped his grasp.

_Again!_

A rustling behind him alerted the pale giant to his fellows returning with their spoils. An alien sound, however – the struggling grunts of a woman – told him they hadn't returned empty-handed.

"_Chto_?" the pale giant grunted in a deep, guttural snarl. ("What?")

"O_tstavshiy. Broditʹ po ruinam," _one of his Furies, a short, stocky fellow with burnt-brown skin replied. ("A straggler. Wandering the ruins.")

"_Doprositʹ yego." _("Interrogate it.")

The stocky Fury turned on the woman – a blonde-haired native of District 12, slightly overweight and with a chubby, cherubic face. She struggled with the rope binding her hands behind her back, clearly aware of the danger she faced in the pale man before her.

"There is one of your kind that escaped," the Fury spoke in heavily-accented English. "A…Katniss Everdeen. Where is it? Where did it go?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the woman replied, her response torn between anger and fear as her eyes darted between the interrogator and the pale giant. "What are you doing to me?!"

"_Master Styx. On ne znayet,"_ the Fury replied to the pale giant, Styx. ("Master. It does not know.")

"_On lezhit." _("It is lying.")

The stocky Fury turned back towards the woman, pointing his knife at her throat: "The Everdeen. Where did it go?"

"I have no idea what you want!" the woman angrily spat in his face. "I haven't seen her in days! I don't know where she is!"

"_Skazat,_" Styx replied without getting up. ("Explain.")

The Fury growled as he lowered his blade: "My master was at the second District when your…Katniss…led to its destruction. It is his tribute. Tell. Where is it?"

"I have no idea!" the woman replied again. "I don't know where she is! But the rebellion was years ago – Katniss wasn't responsible for what happened in District 2; the Capitol destroyed them!"

"_Liar,_" Styx breathed, his voice growling in a terrifying bass as he switched over to common. "13's weapons murdered my people."

"That's not true!" the woman defiantly stammered. "It was the Capitol! They killed their own; they were responsible for everything! Your problem is with them; not with Katniss and us!"

Styx turned to face her, rearing up on his powerful legs and stretching out to his full height. He towered over her, his eyes narrowing into slits as he snarled a final word: "_Name?"_

"My name?" the woman raised an eyebrow. "My name's Delly. Delly Cartwright. If you're –"

Delly didn't get a chance to finish. Styx roared in anger, flinging his fellow Fury aside and grabbing his mace. He lunged forward as Delly tripped backwards in fear, able only to let out a shriek of terror before Styx swung the weapon down with every ounce of force in his body.

The cry of scattering birds answered the scarlet stain of blood upon the forest floor.


	3. Welcome to District 4

Golden light filtered into Laurel's room as she opened her eyes. She wiped away sleep as she sat up, only now realizing she'd fallen asleep against the door. Her back stiffened in protest to the ungainly rest, sending jolting aches across her pine. Laurel groaned and rubbed her tailbone, stretching out her legs and trying to grasp just where they were.

The train was slowing down from its earlier speed, and strange, white birds circled in the clear blue skies outside. Whispy white clouds hovered in the blue backdrop, lazily sauntering their way across the sky. A salty smell reached Laurel's nose – apparently, the train was faster than she'd thought.

District 4 would be coming up shortly.

A soft tap on the door shook Laurel from her thoughts. She shook the remaining bits of sleep out of her mind, standing up and letting out a long exhale. Hopefully, the news wouldn't be bad.

Prim's soft face greeted her with a smile: "Good…well, afternoon, Laurel. You slept all day. Madge said you were in here. Feeling better?"

"Is my mom okay?" Laurel immediately dove into the issue at hand.

"She's resting," Prim placed a re-assuring hand on the nape of Laurel's neck. "She's stable. There's going to be better medicines in District 4…but your mom'll be fine. She's tough. Always has been. Don't let all that get to you."

Laurel fretted and nodded, her hands folding in on each other: "Do…you need me to do anything?"

"Well…" Prim curled her lip up as she examined Laurel's appearance with a disapproving eye. "Maybe you should shower? You could use a little…re-do."

_A lot better than Mom would say_, Laurel thought as she smiled and turned away from her aunt. Katniss's response would have none of the same niceties – more along the likes of "You smell like shit," followed by a finger pointing towards the bathroom.

Laurel'd forgotten just how opulent the old train bathrooms were. She found herself obsessed with experimenting with various shampoos – still supplied to the old Hunger Games carriages like these despite the old days of Panem long since having ended. Fumes of rose, saffron, thyme, and other scents came together to form a bubbly myriad of smells, overwhelming Laurel's nose as she sat on the stone floor of the shower. The warm water running over her drew the armor she'd put up out of her skin, washing away the inhibitions holding back her pent-up emotions.

Before she could help herself, Laurel placed her head against the shower wall and cried. She didn't simply let out a tear over what had happened the night before – she let every fear and worry out of her system, unleashing a flood of water from her eyes that mixed like dust with the shower's comforting rain.

Something like that _wasn't_ supposed to have happened. Wasn't this the post-Hunger Games Panem, where people were supposed to be free and supposed to be safe? How could anyone even _think_ people living in the districts were safe when roving mutated bandits could saunter in at a moment's notice, setting half of a district on fire? For all Laurel knew, her home – the one she'd been born in, the one that had raised her and watched her first steps – was merely ashes in a cool spring wind, carried over the trees she now so desperately wanted to forget.

A pounding on her compartment's door roused her from her thoughts.

"Laur?" Ash's heavy voice carried into the bathroom. "Are you ever coming out? We're almost there."

She composed herself in a hurry, wiping her nose scrubbing water from her eyes: "Yeah…I'll be out in a sec."

Her brother caught the cracks in her voice: "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just…gimme a minute."

Laurel scraped all the soap off her body, washing the mountain of bubbles she'd produced down the drain and hurrying out of the bathroom. She stared at her reflection in the mirror as she wrapped a towel around her midsection. Proof of her teary shower session showed in her eyes, as red cracks ringed her blue irises. Her brown hair hung limply off her shoulders, falling in pathetic lumps around her arms. A bloody scratch cut along her right cheek – a mark of her desperate run to safety the night before she hadn't noticed until now.

Hopefully she wouldn't have to impress anyone in District 4.

Laurel tossed on a loose lavender blouse and took a final look at herself in the mirror. She tied her hair back, hoping to conceal the mess it was in, and made a futile effort to rub away the redness in her eyes. She'd just have to hope no one asked too many questions.

That didn't last long. Summer was waiting for her as she opened the compartment door, quickly appraising her friend with a quizzical look: "Laurel…you look horrible. What's wrong?"

_Gee, thanks_. "I'm fine, Summer…let's just go. I'm probably already late for whatever I'm supposed to be doing."

Warm spring air Laurel's face as the train's door opened to District 4's station platform. She squeezed her eyes momentarily against a salty wind, taking in the scent of the sea. The strange, misshapen trees and brown, grass-strewn hills that met her gaze were a far cry from the dense woodlands of District 12; she'd been taken to an unknown land that she didn't understand at all.

The rest of her family didn't seem to mind so much. Before Laurel had a chance to do much but stare, a brown-haired whirlwind collided with her father, yelling "_Peeta!_"

"I'm not dead, Annie," Laurel's father smiled.

The scene warmed Laurel's heart just enough to loosen her inhibitions. No matter what she was feeling, watching Annie Odair and her father reconnecting on the platform was a welcome sight. A tall, bronze-haired man – Finnick – strode up behind the two, stripping Annie off from Peeta and shaking the fellow victor and rebel's hand firmly.

"Heard about the news," Finnick nodded as he clapped Peeta on the back. "Everyone okay on your end?"

"Prim and Madge are taking Katniss to the hospital in the town square," Peeta flicked a thumb over his shoulder. "She'll be alright. Got roughed up a bit when we were leaving by a few thugs. She'd probably _not_ want me stressing over her when she's unconscious, anyway."

Annie gasped, her wide green eyes bulging: "Is she okay?"

"He said she's fine, yeesh," Finnick brushed his wife away playfully. "But if you keep grabbing my arm like that, you'll cut off its circulation. Then _I'll_ be in trouble. You don't wanna have to sit by me night and day, feeding me my dinner while you look after me, do you?"

"I already do that, Finnick."

Laurel suppressed a nervous laugh at the pair of victors. Their easy back-and-forth banter came across as the perfect balance – two people still lost in love after years of being together. It was a welcome sight from the occasionally chilly relations in the Mellark household, what with her mother's hunting "hobby" drawing her into the woods for hours at a time. At least Katniss now spent more time at home; until old Haymitch Abernathy had died, she'd seemed to spend almost as much time with him.

"Ah," Finnick noticed her, pushing Annie away gently and swinging his eyes down at Laurel. Something about his gaze froze her in place: The same seductive expression he'd once used to win over dozens in the Capitol still had court today. "Laurel, right? Been a while. I think you were about…I dunno, two feet tall the last time I saw you?"

"Maybe," Laurel answered hesitantly. To be truthful, she didn't remember Finnick all too well, besides how her parents described him. In the flesh, he was an unfamiliar rush of charisma.

"I'd let my brain-dead son show you around, but I don't know where he ran off to," Finnick swept his hand around, vacantly staring off into the coastal hills of District 4 that surrounded the station. "Ah well. Peeta – grab your brood, and we'll make you at home back at our place. Not like we have much else to do for now…"

The new district opened up Laurel's sense of curiosity – and suddenly, she didn't want to be following her father and the Odairs back to their home, as the others did. She wanted some time alone, anyway; some time to confront what was going on inside her, and time to get comfortable with this land beside the sea. Laurel remembered mountains from her family's occasional trips to the Capitol; she knew forests from her home, and open grassy fields from District 11 to the South. But the ocean…that was something she couldn't remember. The thought of the flat blue expanse, stretching out to the horizon just over the nearby coastal hills, stirred a craving to steal away and see the sea for herself.

She ducked out of sight as Summer caught Ash and Lily up in conversation, biding her time until Peeta, Rory, and the Odairs had moved safely away – quickly forgetting about her as they dove into their adult discussions. Allowing herself a smile, Laurel wheeled in the opposite direction – heading away from District 4's town center and towards the windy coastal hills that shrouded the ocean from view.

"Getting lost already?"

Laurel froze. The male voice behind her didn't sound intimidating or threatening – merely curious, inquisitive, with a tenor note of amusement. She turned her eyes back towards the station, spotting a tall boy her age sitting atop the open-air station's roof. His copper hair, green eyes, and bored expression gave him away immediately.

Drake – son of Finnick and Annie, and apparently no more excited about going home as she.

"I'm…just…" Laurel stuttered.

"Psh, relax," Drake spat something out of his mouth, swinging off the corrugated aluminum sheeting of the station's roof and landing perfectly on his feet. He smoothed out a crinkle in his white shirt, eying up Laurel from head to toe. "I'm not going to eat you. Or maybe I will…you look delicious."

"Delicious?" Laurel raised an eyebrow at him, perplexed. "What?"

"You don't have a lot of guys in District 12, do you?" Drake smirked. "Or maybe a sense of humor. Jeez, _relax_."

"We have jokes and stuff…a sense of humor!"

"Oh yeah? Prove it. Tell me one."

"Um," Laurel wrung her hands. Drake wasn't exactly what she expected – nothing like her parents' descriptions of Annie, and far too much like their stories of Finnick. "I dunno. I had a joke about bananas…but it's not very a-peeling."

Drake gaped at her for a second before laughing derisively: "That's _awful_. That's so bad. You know what; I'm never going to ask you for a joke again."

"You probably can't do better!" Laurel felt blood rushing to her face as Drake laughed at her.

"No. I just wanted to laugh at someone," Drake replied with a wry grin. "Here's something you didn't know: My name's Drake. Drake Odair."

"I had an inkling," Laurel rolled her eyes. "My parents have told me all about your dad, and you're just like him."

"Oh, so you're…let's see, the girl of the Girl on Fire? Did I get that right? Like, girl-squared?"

"That's just as bad as my joke!"

"I wasn't even joking!" Drake protested with a smile. "How is that wrong?"

"It's still bad," Laurel harrumphed. "Fine. I'm Laurel. You're right."

"Ha!" Drake laughed triumphantly. His expression immediately sobered up as he regarded her with a serious face, his eyes turning from playful to cautious: "Look, I heard about what happened in District 12…"

"Don't," Laurel held up a hand, looking away. She couldn't take any more sympathy or well-wishing from others – especially funny guys she'd just met. "I don't wanna think about it. I'm trying _not_ to think about it."

"Alright," Drake nodded. The two stood in awkward silence for a moment before he veered the conversation into less-pressing concerns: "So…why did you take off from all your groupies, anyway?"

"They're not my groupies," Laurel answered, pushing aside the gray cloud of moodiness that threatened to rear up with the mention of District 12. "I think they forgot about me, anyway. I wanted to see the ocean. This is District 4…"

"We do have ocean here, yes," Drake replied sarcastically. As if making up for his reference to District 12's unfortunate circumstances, however, he quickly shied away from the jokes. "But…it's, uh, over these hills. You can even touch it, if you want. Wanna go see?"

Laurel paused before answering: "Yeah…yeah, I'd like that."


	4. Bounty of the Sea

_**A/N: Thanks for the comments and readership, everybody! I encourage suggestions and/or constructive criticism at any time – always happy to know how I can deliver a better story.**_

* * *

"Yeah, I said it wasn't very exciting. Just a bunch of blue, as far as you can see…you live with it long enough, it just gets ordinary."

Drake and Laurel stood at the edge of the ocean, the tide lapping at their bare feet. Seagulls hung lazily in the cloud-specked sky above, floating on warm rafters rising up from the coastal hills behind them. While Drake may have been bored by the mundane sight, Laurel was fascinated: The endless blue plane sparked something deep inside her mind that had never arisen in District 12. The sea was a pure virgin stretch of creation, open to whatever dreams Laurel could fill it with. She let the ocean wind blow her hair back, burying her toes into the soft mud of the shore.

"It's beautiful," Laurel breathed. "It's perfect."

"Well, that might be a bit much…"

"No! It's perfect," Laurel cut Drake off. She didn't want him to spoil the moment.

Drake put his hands in his pant pockets, letting her enjoy the moment. She tuned him out, inhaling deeply and picking out every scent of the sea – from the salt of the water to the kelp drying down the shore. Laurel wasn't used to new experiences much from her quiet life in District 12, and having forgotten District 4's beauty long ago, she was in no hurry to speed up her return to it.

"You wanna know what it's really like?" Drake piped up after a minute.

"What?"

"Lemme show you."

Drake stepped back, putting a hand on Laurel's shoulder and shoving hard. He caught her unaware as she stumbled on one foot, reaching a hand out to steady herself with a shocked look on her face. It wasn't enough: Laurel tripped and fell head-first into the sea water, sending up a splash as she dove right into the ocean. Cold blue water swarmed before her eyes as she panicked, flailing her arms under the surface. It wasn't as if she hadn't been underwater before – many times she'd gone swimming with her family in the pond in District 12's woods – but the salty brine of the sea shocked her before she clawed her way above the surface.

Standing above her triumphantly, Drake let out a loud, barking laugh.

"What was that for?" Laurel demanded angrily, wiping sea water from her eyes.

"You wanted to know what it was like," Drake laughed. "How is it a little closer?"

"Cold," Laurel bemoaned. "You know what?"

"What?"

"This would be better with two people."

Laurel grabbed Drake's ankle before he could react. With a great heave, she yanked on him and pulled his leg off balance. Drake made a futile attempt to stabilize himself before he, too, went tumbling down into the ocean, sending up a spray of foam as he hit the water.

"God, it's cold," Drake spat out a mouthful of sea water as he kicked away from shore, diving into the deeper shallows with the grace of a natural swimmer. "You are an evil, evil person."

"You did it first!"

Drake shook his head with a smile, splashing her with a handful of water: "We're both gonna freeze out here at this rate. C'mon, let's get out of here. We can stop by the docks on the way home…and if you want to check on your mother, the hospital's nearby. I'm gonna guess everyone else is there."

Laurel had completely forgotten about her mom, to be truthful. She'd been so caught up in exploring this exciting new place – with an interesting companion, no doubt – but he was right. She'd begun to trust Prim's words that her mom would be fine, but the events of last night still haunted the back of her mind. Her outing with Drake had been a nice distraction in an otherwise-horrific past 24 hours.

"Okay," Laurel nodded, wringing water out of the end of her ponytail. "Alright. Let's go"

Drake got ashore first, grabbing Laurel's hand and pulling her out of the calm surf. As he did, she felt her heart flutter momentarily. No boy had done that for her before – certainly not any she'd just met an hour before. Laurel didn't have many male friends back in District 12, but she'd never had feelings for any of them. They were all the calm, dull sorts – the type content for their stable, plain lives in District 12. They didn't have the flair for the dramatic, nor the spontaneity, of Drake.

She recovered herself before he could notice, aware of blood rushing her to cheeks.

"You shoulda come in the summer," Drake said, not noticing Laurel's moment of vulnerability. "Lot warmer then."

"How, uh…do you guys deal with that?" Laurel stammered. "The cold water, I mean. Because…fishing."

"Yeah, because 'fishing,'" Drake laughed. Laurel was relieved that he'd taken her jumbled words as a personality trait, rather than what was really crossing her mind. "Most fishermen have insulated suits they wear out on the boats. They keep ya warm when diving…helps that most fishers nowadays just cast a few big nets out. Takes the fun out of it, but gets more fish and keeps 'em cheap."

"I could use that right now," Laurel grumbled, rubbing her arms and realizing just how cold the dip in the ocean had made her. "I just have this wet shirt."

"Well don't look at me," Drake laughed. "I'm just as wet and cold."

_Way to drop the ball_, Laurel thought as she frowned inside. She didn't consider herself good at giving hints, but even _that_ seemed obvious enough.

District 4 opened up quickly from the small beach, with hovel-like homes of adobe and brick on the town's outskirts giving way to the expansive docks that housed dozens of vessels. With the sun setting on the horizon, boats from far offshore came chugging back to shore. Fishermen hurled bounties of crab, shrimp, tuna, and shark off their vessels, shocking Laurel with the sheer quantity of food and material born in the sea.

"What is that?" Laurel gasped at one point, reaching out to a somber sight caught on a crane hook.

"Oh," Drake looked motioned for her to pick up the pace. "Don't look at that. Not something that some of us in District 4 are proud about."

Suspended on hooks, the bloated, giant body of a dead titan bled onto the dock. The humpback whale had once roamed the seas around District 4 peacefully, but in the post-Hunger Games Panem, a new wave of commerce required those looking to earn an extra buck to make a few moral sacrifices along the way. Already, longshoremen cut at the whale corpse with long scythes, looking to extract oil, meat, fatty blubber, and more that could be sold to wealthy patrons in District 1 and the Capitol.

"That's horrible," Laurel was disgusted by the sight of the whale, all its former dignity destroyed by the process. "Do people eat that?"

"It's a delicacy in the Capitol," Drake bemoaned, in no way happy by the sight. "And in District 1. Some sick people in our world, Laurel. Some of the poor people here in the district…well, can't blame them for trying to make a better living."

"I thought District 4 was rich?"

"Rich? Hah," Drake scoffed. "Maybe back when the Games were going on. I guess we're still better off than the likes of District 11, 8, and others, but most people here wouldn't call themselves wealthy. It's not District 1."

_Still better off than most of District 12_, Laurel thought. _Well, especially now_.

Laurel didn't have a chance to dwell on the topic, however. As she and Drake passed by the first of a multitude of fish vendors, a neatly-dressed blonde-haired woman in a green suit caught her eye – accompanied by a burly man holding a shoulder-mounted camera.

Media. Her parents had done a good job sheltering Laurel and her brother from inquisitive tabloid reporters back in District 12, but she'd always been caught by them during their trips to the Capitol. Laurel was no good in front of a camera, particularly caught unaware by baited questions from interviewers with agendas. Now out in the open in District 4, she was totally unprepared to be verbally assaulted by a reporter no doubt looking for a scoop on Katniss's condition following the District 12 attack.

"We have to go," Laurel panicked, pushing Drake's chest back towards the docks. "We have to go now."

"What?" he looked perplexed. "Go where?"

"Anywhere! We – "

"Ah!" the reporter's perfectly-manicured voice caught Laurel before she could go any further. _Obviously_ from District 1. "Daughter of the Mockingjay! Do you have time for a few questions?"

Laurel turned around from Drake with a rock in her gut, looking despondent at the reporter: "No."

"Perfect!" the interviewer ignored her. "How has the terror attack on District 12 hit you? Did you lose anyone in it?"

"I…uh…dunno."

"We've heard reports that Katniss could be dying right now in the district hospital. Can you comment?"

"What?" Laurel panicked, her hands wrapping about each other at the reporter's loaded question. She felt heat rush her face in fear, her cheeks blushing with color. "What are you talking about?"

"After the Capitol hovercraft landed in the town square a minute ago," the reporter quipped without a beat. "We received a report – "

"Look," Drake, tired of the song-and-dance, interjected firmly. "Why don't you…whatever female entity you are…go fuck yourself? Laurel, c'mon. We do have somewhere to go, after all."

"Excuse me?"

Drake pushed past the flustered reporter, grabbing Laurel's hand without a look back. For her part, Laurel's heart was still racing at the second question.

"Dying?" she squeaked as Drake pulled her past the dock stalls. "But…my Dad said she was okay…"

"It's a reporter," Drake grumbled. "They're just trying to get a reaction. Don't believe her; she's probably fine. I'm more interested in the Capitol hovercraft…and what _they_ are doing here."

Before Laurel could think, Drake had led her straight past the docks and into the heart of District 4's town center. True enough, sitting in the green grass of the town's perfectly-manicured square was a powered-down, crimson- and gold-painted hovercraft, its forward-swept wings making it look like a bird of prey ready to get up and strike at any time. A column of district Peacekeepers had arranged outside of a lowered boarding ramp, led by a tall, straight-backed man ready to greet the guests – District 4's Head Peacekeeper.

"It's not just Capitol," Drake breathed as he pushed Laurel against a nearby brick building's shadow, out of sight of the procession a hundred meters away. "Presidential."

"How can you tell?" Laurel asked, her mind immediately leaving behind morbid thoughts of her mother.

"They're the only ones painted like that. Must be someone important. Wonder why they're here?"

He soon got part of an answer. A white-robed man slowly sauntered off the hovercraft, taking small, measured steps down the boarding ramp. He lifted his wizened head up as if to take in District 4 – like the denizens of this foreign land were beneath him. A short-cropped field of white hair receded from mid-scalp down to his ears, although the man's confidence certainly hadn't been affected by age like his hairline. He moved with the air of someone who knew his own importance – and enjoyed it.

Laurel knew all too well who this was.

"Plutarch," she gasped, her eyes widening. "What…he's here for us. Our families, at least."

"Plutarch Heavensbee?" Drake laughed. "Not my family. I've only seen him here once…that was enough. Guy creeps me out whenever he's on the news…way too powerful for his skin, and all that 'speaking for the President' stuff? Why don't we ever see the President ourselves, whoever he is? Instead we get his lackey."

Laurel ignored Drake's political rant, instead watching who was debarking _after_ Plutarch. No elderly statesman in white was this: A tall specter in a cloak of black moved off the hovercraft with such a constant step that he seemed to be _flowing_ down the ramp. The cloak covered him from head to toe, shielding every inch of his body save his hands – each clothed in a black glove – and his face, which hid behind an onyx mask that concealed any facial features to the world. Laurel didn't know him, but his mere presence sent a cold shiver down her spine.

"What is that?" she whispered to Drake, shrinking into the shadow of the building. "Or who?"

"That?" he looked at her with incredulous eyes. "You don't know him?"

"No."

"Laurel, that's the Executor. Most powerful man in Panem after the President and Plutarch…keeps control of all the Peacekeepers from the Capitol. Word is he's done some horribly nasty things…I feel bad for our Head right now. Something tells me he's not going to be walking away if the Executor is here. That guy only shows himself publicly when something's _really_ bad."

"What d'you mean…'horribly nasty things?'"

"There was a group of dissidents in District 3, protesting a Peacekeeper crackdown on their factories," Drake explained as he watched the Head Peacekeeper speaking to Plutarch. "About 20 of them. He went out to the district personally with his personal guard…when they approached him, he gunned them all down. Pop-pop-pop. Didn't even bother to ask their names; didn't even bother to get his surrounding Peacekeepers involved. Just killed 'em all, walked away. Didn't need to say anything to make a statement: Don't screw with the Capitol, even with that old guy Snow long since dead and buried."

Before Drake could explain further, Laurel watched as Plutarch waved the Head Peacekeeper away in his face. The man froze in place, his head bobbing back and forth between the elderly statesman and the black-robed specter walking slowly towards him. He stammered something inaudible before the Executor raised a black-gloved hand, catching him by the throat. Plutarch waved behind him again, turning and walking away as his subordinate raised the Head Peacekeeper up in the air.

Laurel held her breath as the Peacekeeper tried to stammer out one last word. He didn't get the chance: With a quick flinch of his hand, the Executor snapped the man's neck like a toothpick.

He was dead before his feet touched the earth again.


	5. Executor

Without thinking, Laurel grabbed Drake's arm and yanked him away from the square.

"Where's the hospital?" she demanded, her blue eyes wide with anxiety. "Where?"

"Uh – two blocks down and one to the East," Drake stumbled. "Laurel, wait – "

"No! I'm not letting whoever that guy – that 'Executor' – hurt my mom and family!" she retorted angrily.

Drake let his hands hang loosely by his sides, admitting defeat: "Alright. Follow me. We'll have to be fast."

The two children of victors dashed down a side street, out of the view of the white-clad Peacekeepers surrounding the black-robed killer. Laurel breathed heavily with each impact of her feet to the ground – _one, two,_ _one, two_. She didn't know what had prompted the arrival, but she didn't care; she couldn't afford more chaos around her after the events of the past 24 hours.

"Up ahead!" Drake hissed at her as the two rounded a corner after a minute of hard running. "To the right side of the street; gray-and-white building."

Laurel veered into an alley to avoid attention, slinking towards a side door in the side of District 4's four-story hospital building, a nondescript structure that looked to be a construction of the post-rebellion era. She opened the creaky metal door quietly, sticking her head into a steel-lined maintenance hall and signaling for Drake to follow. Laurel closed the door quickly behind them, leaving no trace that either had been in the alley – and hoping Plutarch wasn't here to inflict the Capitol's answer for the attack on District 12.

"They're not going to hurt anybody," Drake tried to tell her as she walked quickly down the maintenance hall. "Well, besides the Peacekeeper. They're probably not even here for your parents."

"Why else would they be here?"

"How should I know? I'm not a Peacekeeper."

Laurel shook her head at him, reaching another metal door and stubbing her toe on a janitor's cart.

"Jeez!" she yelped, before covering her mouth from the noise. "Where do we go from here?"

"Laurel, _I have no idea where we're going_," Drake looked exasperated. "We could search all day in the hospital for your mom's room. It's a big place."

She ignored him, peeking open the door just enough to let a sliver of light in. Bad idea: Laurel poked it closed just as several Peacekeepers marched past, each adorned in full Capitol armor. She held her breath as they moved past, walking down the hall without noticing the two children on the other side of the maintenance door.

"Let's go," Laurel prodded Drake as the Peacekeepers passed. "We'll follow them."

"And what if they're going to the bathroom? You gonna follow them there?"

"No! C'mon."

"This is ridiculous!" Drake hissed, but followed Laurel as she tromped out of the maintenance hall after the Peacekeepers.

Laurel kept her distance, staying one corridor behind the four Peacekeepers moved down a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs. Their arrival had fortunately cleared the sterile, white-washed hallways clear of medical personnel; it allowed Laurel and Drake to move about undetected as they tracked the Capitol's men. Numerous, glassed-in rooms concealed patients or empty beds behind shadowed windows; no doubt they could see the kids in pursuit of the Peacekeepers without a problem.

Laurel didn't care, however. She was on a mission.

Up on the second floor and down in a hallway of the wards, however, she heard a familiar voice – her father's.

"…not possible. She's gonna need recovery time, for God's sake."

The next voice wasn't so welcome: "Peeta…think of our people. It's in their _best interest_ to know the heroine of Panem is in good condition. Already…_rumors_ circulate about her untimely demise; unsubstantiated rumors no doubt cast by dissatisfied ingrates who live among us."

"Sh!" Laurel hissed to Drake, crouching down on all fours and approaching a large, clear window that overlooked a recovery room down on the first floor.

From here – ostensibly a doctor's floor to monitor patients – Laurel could get a good view of what was going on. Katniss, her torso and injuries covered up by bandages and sheets, lay on a clean white bed – woozy, but conscious as she looked up at a pair of men locked in conversation. Peeta stood beside her, his hand on her leg as he furiously debated with the man Laurel'd worried about: Plutarch.

The Capitol's spokesman stood stoically as he argued back, hands behind his back in a gallant pose. His white robe and graying hair camouflaged much of the man against the backdrop of the expansive, white-walled recovery room. Whereas Peeta argued with emotion and passionate expression, Plutarch's face hardly moved a muscle as he spoke – simply a pair of lips producing academic words.

"What do you mean?" Peeta asked Plutarch as Laurel peeped her eyes over the window sill.

"Peeta," Plutarch smiled paternalistically. "You know, don't you…many in Panem still aren't happy with the resolution we fought for years ago. Whether castoffs of the destroyed districts or Capitol sympathizers…they remain among us, spewing their defenses of a corrupt system. They would no doubt like nothing more than to see Katniss here dead…it would promote their terrorist agenda. Simply look at those who attacked your district."

"Those were rogues. Furies."

"And yet, were they? We have never seen such…_organized aggression_…out of bandits. This is why the people need you and Katniss…and the other heroes of our rebellion…to come back to the public eye. We need to stomp out discontent before it evolves into something more. Something…that threatens to poison what we built."

"The hell's he talking about?" Drake breathed to Laurel as he, too, had begun to look on to the argument below.

"I'm sure Katniss would agree," Plutarch continued before Laurel could reply. "Wouldn't you, dear?"

Katniss looked up at him with a mixture of grudging respect and loathing. Although the movement looked pained, she managed to croak out a single sentence: "You…sound like Gale used to."

"Well, I'm sure he'd say the same if he were still with us," Plutarch sighed. "Unfortunately, our most faithful patriot hasn't been seen since the rebellion. A shame, really…and even more reason why we need our heroes like you two back where you belong…in the Capitol; in front of the people of Panem."

Laurel's heart dropped. Perhaps Plutarch wasn't here to hurt her family after all…at least not _physically_. But dragging them off to the Capitol – shoving them in front of the cameras, like the one that had attacked her near the dock – was just as good as psychological torture. That kind of media exposure was the last thing Laurel wanted.

"Well," Drake didn't share the sentiment. "See? Nothing to worry about. Trip to the Capitol with your parents gets you some of their free, fancy food for a while."

"Don't you – " Laurel started; she didn't get the chance to finish.

A black-gloved hand clamped down on Laurel's shoulder, pulling her away from the hospital room. She pivoted in the strong grip, coming face-to-face with an onyx death's head mask.

Staring straight into her eyes was the Executor.

Drake froze, unsure of whether to run or do nothing as one of Panem's most powerful men sized Laurel up. The Executor paused, his mask stuck on Laurel's face as he evaluated her from head to toe. For her part, Laurel was terrified. She had expected Peacekeepers and the like to be on the floor – but certainly not the man she had just witnessed snap the Head Peacekeeper's neck like a toothpick. His mask hid any sort of emotion that she could glean, leaving her a pawn in whatever game he decided to play.

The Executor didn't try to kill her, however – he simply stared. For a long minute, he examined Laurel without a word, inspecting her as if she were a new factory part to be examined. After he'd had his fill, he pushed her out of the way – his black cloak roiling in her face as he stood against the window, watching what was going on between Peeta, Katniss, and Plutarch in the room below.

Laurel stood back with baited breath as the black-clad man crossed his arms, his death's-head mask angled straight at her mother. Something about that wasn't right…it wasn't the killer she'd expected him to be. It was a little too…_emotional_.

Drake wasted no time. He grabbed Laurel's hand before the Executor could move, ripping her out of her senses and pulling her away from the window and towards the stairs. Laurel cast one final look back at the scene: The Executor had hardly noticed her, standing still and quiet by the window, observing her mother and the procession below. Something about his actions struck her as odd…like he wasn't the same murderer of the Peacekeeper Head she'd seen before, but instead a man reminiscing on something long lost.

"You're gonna get us killed," Drake hissed, jarring her from her thoughts as he led her down the stairs. "I don't know why the Executor didn't just kill us then and there, but you have no idea what you're messing with."

"I just…" Laurel defended herself.

"No! Laurel, don't you get it?" Drake shoved her, his green eyes shredding her gaze. "These people from the Capitol…they don't care about average kids like us! They'll toss us aside if they want to. We can't just barge in and think everything's cool, because it's not. The Executor…you saw what he can do. He'll murder people without a second thought."

"We didn't even do anything, Drake! He wasn't going to kill us."

"It's the Capitol. They're not nice. They'll do what they want."

Laurel sighed, too tired by the event to risk a prolonged argument with Drake. He was too fiery for her – too passionate about his ideals; too locked up in what he thought of the Capitol's methods. The center of Panem's society may not have ended up as the democratic beacon of freedom her mother had fought for, but it _was_ the center of law. Laurel was willing to follow that…and there was something about the Executor. Perhaps he was a killer, a murder…a demon. But something about his long look upon her face – his longing gaze on the recovery room – spoke to Laurel of something beyond pure loyalty to the state.

It spoke of regret…of what he once had, but had long ago seen push away from him. At once, the Executor transformed from a cruel villain to a tragedy in Laurel's mind, all in the space of a few captured moments.

"I need to see my mom," Laurel shrugged Drake off angrily. "We'll wait 'til Plutarch's gone."

"There's Peacekeepers all over the freakin' place," Drake protested. "We can't just stick around here."

"No!" Laurel snarled. "I'm not leaving until I figure out what's going on. You heard Plutarch – he wants to drag us all to the Capitol; that might mean you and me and all our families. I want to know why."

Drake paused before a wry grin crossed his face. He narrowed his eyes, running a hand along his hairline as he appraised Laurel: "You really are the kid of the girl on fire, huh? Just too eager to get into trouble."

"I think your dad would approve," Laurel sniffed. "History tells me he was a rebel at one point."

"Heh," Drake scoffed. "I guess so…I guess so. Alright, Laurel. We'll do it your way. Let's find out what we're getting into."


End file.
